


What Happens on Livejournal Stays on Livejournal

by afterandalasia



Category: Toy Story (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Inanimate Objects, Living Toys, Meta, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The toys are concerned that their own might have an idea about them, but the oldest of them makes sure to reassure them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens on Livejournal Stays on Livejournal

**Author's Note:**

> From the [anon prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/361.html?thread=1074793#t1074793) at the Disney Kink Meme - "Self-insert. Your toys in your room."
> 
> Rating for vague indecency on behalf of a toy Dalek.

"Sometimes," said the teddy bear money box, "I think that she's onto us."  
  
There was an ominous silence. They were always a little bit more wary since university had made their hours to themselves more variable. It had been easier with good, reliable schooldays. But even now, despite the cursing about exams and the like that usually meant long hours alone whilst The Owner was at the library, there wasn't much of a reply.  
  
The money box rolled its metal eyes. "I _said_ \--"  
  
"We heard, we heard," came the snippy reply from the bottom drawer of the cabinet. It was pushed further open and four near-identical metal heads poked out. It had been a surprise when, at the age of fourteen and the time when other toys were being handed down to cousins and young family friends, the Warhammer had started to arrive in its droves. Most of the plastics were too small and not self-aware enough to do anything more than stare around as if they had never seen anything before, but some of the larger ones had more brains to them.  
  
In this case, it was the trolls. Four helmeted heads - one with holes, one with two spikes, one with three, and one heavily modified to look like a porcupine's version of an Iron Maiden - looked around the room, then they lumbered out. The old names were perhaps unfortunate, but Stumpy, Wazzock, Armpit and Elf-Dude they had chosen to remain.  
  
"Heard what?" said Stumpy. That helmet did get in the way.  
  
The elf clutched in Elf-Dude's hand (oh, he had complained at great length about that, questioning whether it was _really_ necessary for him to become a improvised hand weapon) gave a squirm, then slumped down with a sigh, hand on his cheek. "That Brian over there thinks she's on to us."  
  
"My name is _not_ Brian."  
  
"She never names you. And she calls everyone Brian. Be grateful that you aren't Dooflipper."  
  
The re-christened Brian grumbled vaguely.  
  
"Anyway," he said. "I still say that since she watched those films- oh, will you stop that?"  
  
"Exterminate! Exterminate!"  
  
"Scent Bear, _will_ you stop him?"  
  
The Dalek kept bumping against Brian, the force of his wheels making the gesture seem oddly indecent. "Exterminate! Exterminate!"  
  
Scent Bear grabbed the Dalek and repositioned him to face the back of the shelf. He fell still again.  
  
"One of these days, I will take his batteries out," muttered Brian.  
  
"Probably wouldn't work," said the elf. "You know what he's like."  
  
"What who's like?"  
  
"Oh shut up, Stumpy."  
  
There was another uncomfortable, uncertain silence. They had been lucky enough not to be among the toys whose owners had, years ago, watched the films of which they spoke as they came out. But a belated (four or fifteen years belated, according to which end of the trilogy you wanted to think of) discovery was a discovery nonetheless.  
  
Which meant only one thing.  
  
Scent-Bear hopped down from the shelf and pushed up the blankets, revealing the soft dark space that was Beneath The Bed. Currently occupied by a couple of suitcases, the old painting kit and a half-emptied crate of WKD which The Owner had bemusedly bought back from a nightclub one night. At one time they might have feared being banished to the space beneath it, but it had become apparent that this room was perhaps not like others they had previously been in.  
  
"Dolly?" said Scent Bear softly.  
  
There was a low rumble beneath the bed, then slowly the toy figure beneath there turned. There was never dispute after Dolly had been consulted; the two-foot long dolphin soft toy had been with The Owner longer than any of them. It was he who had first assured Scent Bear that 'going for a swim' in the washing machine was not to be worried about, he who had appointed the trolls groups of orcs to keep an eye on, he who had been moved back onto the bed when The Owner first moved out and then given a place to himself, quiet and close, beneath the bed when the rest of them had been placed on shelves.

Now he shuffled round and forwards slightly; he never had been as mobile as the others, and age was not helping. "What is the argument about now?" he asked.  
  
"Well, we know that she's been watching... those films," said Scent Bear carefully.  
  
"Um-hmm."  
  
"And you're allowed on the bed, so... you sometmies watch them with her. Right?"  
  
"Um-hmm."  
  
There was a note in the dolphin's voice which suggested that he already knew where this was going, and he would rather that it got to the point sooner rather than later.  
  
"So, er... do you think she knows?"  
  
Dolly gave a hum of thought; he didn't speak with the squeals one might expect of dolphins, but the soft low voice of age. Although still made of bright blue and white fur, threadbare patches were starting to appear around his fins and nose.  
  
"I mean," continued Scent Bear nervously, "She talks to you."  
  
"She's _always_ talked to me," he replied, and if a voice could roll its eyes then that sentance did.  
  
"And you watch films with her..."  
  
"I've always watched films with her."  
  
"And, well..."  
  
"Scent," said Dolly softly, "all children like to think that their toys are alive sometimes.  
  
"She's not a child anymore, Dolly," said Brian.  
  
Stumpy looked round "What?"  
  
"Shut up," snapped the Elf.  
  
A low chuckle rolled out from under the bed. "She'll always be a child with me, Scent. Don't you worry, we've made it this far. And films are films. She knows that."  
  
Scent Bear and Brian exchanged a long look, then slowly nodded between themselves. "All right. We'll play it cool."  
  
"Good," replied Dolly, and eased back beneath the bed again. "And for goodness's sake, get that Dalek to stop humping the jewellery box."  
  
"Huh?" Scent Bear spun round, letting drop the blankets again. "Oi! Stop that!"  
  
And in the warm, cosy darkness beneath the bed, Dolly chuckled and shuffled down between the two suitcases that had been placed the perfect distance apart or him to fit between. On the shelves or in the drawers, the others mostly kept to themselves nowadays. They didn't get to watch films or TV programmes, or read fanfiction over her shoulder.  
  
Although that was probably for the best. They didn't need to know how much she thought about those films, after all.  
  
Or that she'd looked him in the eye and told him that she knew about them. No, they probably didn't need to know about that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the menagerie featured in this fic. From left to right: Stumpy, Armpit, Wazzock, Elf-Dude (with Elf), Brian, Dalek, Scent Bear and Dolly himself.
> 
>  


End file.
